


Secret Ingredient

by Karalora



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Food mentions, Other, Other characters are just brief mentions, extended metaphor advisory, mainly fluff, patton-centric, some angst mentions but nothing too harsh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karalora/pseuds/Karalora
Summary: In the mind palace, it's no cute figure of speech.





	Secret Ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Sanders Sides fic, and my first time posting to AO3! Enjoy!

In the mind palace, it's no cute figure of speech.

Patton is not exactly an expert cook. He's a _serviceable_ cook with a few specialties. He has pretty well mastered the simple things, like soup and pasta and porkchops. He has half a dozen cookie recipes memorized. He can turn just about anything into a palatable sandwich and his cheese-and-bell-pepper omelets are the stuff of legend. But he knows his limitations. He's too distractible to follow complicated instructions and he can never remember the difference between “braise” and “broil” and the other Sides won't even let him _near_ the hibachi anymore.

But that's all right. Patton has the Secret Ingredient.

He keeps it—or it keeps itself, he's not sure which—in a ceramic jar, the size of your fist and glazed in the most delicate shade of pink, stored in the very back of the top shelf of the spice cabinet. The others aren't allowed to poke around up there, on pain of sad, disappointed looks, and they respect that. The Secret Ingredient is not to be trifled with. Used carelessly, it can be quite dangerous...but Patton's judgment in the matter is nearly irreproachable.

It's almost infinitely versatile, working equally well whether the main flavor is sweet or savory, and even in drinks. His intuition tells him how much to use at any given time—a pinch per bowl of soup? half a teaspoon in a batch of cookie dough?...and sometimes the answer is _none_ ; sometimes the others just aren't in the mood for that sort of extra seasoning and it would be wrong of him to presume to know better. Using it is a bit of a gamble, to be honest, because the Secret Ingredient...changes. It's always a powder, about the consistency of ground paprika and slightly sparkly even in dim light, but its color and flavor and _effects_ change depending on circumstances. He's noticed certain patterns and can often predict the results, but it surprises him often enough that he's learned not to be _too_ surprised.

It seems to default to a pale honey tint, like raw sugar or yeast, with a behavior much like a combination of the two: making things sweeter and fluffier. Sometimes it's more of a spice: a bewildering cross between cinnamon, ginger, and red pepper that somehow imparts its own flavor while simultaneously enhancing the flavors of whatever it's added to. This is Roman's clear favorite, though that might be because it tends to emerge when Thomas has been feeling flirty or just low-key ogling the studs at the gym.

On the other hand, on occasions when Thomas is worried about someone close to him, the Secret Ingredient often has a sourness to it—not enough to ruin the food, but certainly noticeable. (If anyone says anything, Patton tries to play it off as overexuberance with the lemon juice.) In that state, it affects them almost like excess caffeine...especially Virgil, who paces and paces.

There are even times, thankfully rare, when things are just...bad, when the weight of the world gets to Thomas, and therefore to them, and the stuff seems almost _toxic_. It swings wildly between utterly flavorless and harshly bitter, and sits heavy in the belly, giving them all nagging stomachaches. It's sorely tempting, during those times, to just leave well enough (or _un_ well enough) alone...but no. Patton's intuition usually tells him that they need it more than ever during those rough patches, and his hand makes its way to the top shelf of the spice cabinet almost of its own accord, so he doles it out like doses of medicine and tries to make up for the side effects with a little extra salt and pepper and liberal helpings of ginger ale.

Because the one absolute constant about the Secret Ingredient is the way it brings them closer together. It's not dramatic, it doesn't flip angry moods into pleasant ones, but it smooths over rough edges and strengthens existing lines of connection. It inspires them to linger just a few minutes longer in one another's company. It makes it just a bit more likely that a bad mood will manifest not as grouchiness, pushing away, but as melancholy, inviting sympathy. It can't prevent a disagreement but it can stop one festering into rancor.

_Can_. Not necessarily _will_. It's an aid, not an infallible solution.

But it _is_ magic, and don't ever try to tell Patton differently.

It works the same way during the happy, contented times, if even less dramatically: a reminder, rather than a revelation. If he had to nail it down, Patton would say its effect during those times is to make things _enough_. When no one really feels much like talking, the silence is enough. On movie nights, the movies they choose are the right ones. Collaborative projects find their energy level and pace more readily than otherwise, as the participants need less effort to slide into a productive rapport.

On rare occasions, Patton uses a bit just for himself, without the formality of a group meal. When he's feeling down for no identifiable reason, half a dollop in a cup of tea usually resets his equilibrium (and tastes fantastic). He sometimes wishes the others could do the same in their blue moments, but they have their own coping mechanisms. The Secret Ingredient is his responsibility and his boon.

One thing he doesn't have to worry about, is running out of it. The level in the jar fluctuates between uses, but as long as even a smidgen remains, it replenishes itself. (And maybe it still would if he emptied the jar entirely...but he's not about to risk the experiment.) The _rate _at which it regenerates varies quite a lot, and even less predictably than the flavor. Sometimes there's less available than he had hoped to use. Sometimes the jar is nearly overflowing, and he has to triple his recipe just to make sure it doesn't. Sometimes he takes out a heaping spoonful and can _watch_ it mound back up.__

__Patton has wondered, on more than one occasion, whether Logan might be able to help him tease apart the mysteries, but he doubts it. Logan seems unable to even taste the Secret Ingredient—he never comments on the flavor, and seems a little perplexed when the others do. The other effects still reach him though, so that's all right. But there's almost certainly no point in asking him to figure out something he can't consciously perceive._ _

__And maybe that's all right in itself. Maybe the Secret Ingredient is _meant_ to be mysterious. If poets and philosophers working for thousands of years haven't managed to crack the code, it's not likely to be unraveled within the mind of one Floridian who's still figuring _himself_ out._ _

__It pairs really well with cumin, for some reason._ _


End file.
